writing

sUSAN bACKLINIE (mako)

i'm topless and stoned
my belted waist pulled from shore
by two men running back and forth
the diver beneath me tugs
and i bob like a cork

i'm a dolphin
pebbled teeth and gumby skin
wearing a fish for a hat
oops that's an orca
anyway i spray water into the air

makos circle in filtered light
iridescent and prehistoric
bite chunks out of me
he sings to me so sweetly
the sharks tug beneath me

red and blue and white
the blood the ocean the skin
a knee on his throat
an obsessive scroll
and i wish for the end

finish your plate

the room around me is dark, the only
illumination being from a line of candles
running along the table i'm seated at. two
chairs on the left, two on the right, and a lone
chair directly opposite me. all of them empty
and flickering in the light. just behind the
'head of household' chair across from me glows
a tiny red light. i can see the screen of the 'sony
alpha' popped open to the side, if someone was
behind it i would be able to see their face
glowing in the dim light of the screen, but it's
only blackness instead.

disregarding the camera for now i look down
at the plate in front of me. a 12oz sirloin sits
in the middle of a stark white plate, raw and
slightly glistening. a rather simple pattern is
embossed in a ring along the edge of the plate.
far simpler of a pattern than i would expect at
such an ornate table setting. "eat" a
disembodied voice speaks. not a frightening
voice, rather it's almost devoid of all
inflection. like a train announcement asking
me to watch my step when exiting or preflight
safety instructions.

i start to do as i'm told, which is when i realize
i have a steak knife in my right hand and a
fork in my left. it's almost too easy to cut the
steak and definitely too easy bringing the
dripping piece to my mouth. it tastes like
nothing. i imagine what the red light across
from me sees? an already bloody mouth
accepting more? i can't think about that now, i
have a steak to finish. just as i think this, "eat"
the voice reiterates. i do as i'm told again. cut,
lift, chew, swallow, cut, lift, chew, swallow,
cut, lift, chew, and swallow. the candlelight
illuminates an empty plate.

blood in little pools sit on the plate like bits of
oil on top of water. a few drops coating the
delicate embossing of the plate. "eat" but
what? there's nothing left. "eat" "eat" "eat"
devoid of emotion no longer, frantic and
pitched up. i do as i'm told and lift the plate to
my mouth. with a loud crack the plate
splinters in half and a semicircle of it
breaks off into my mouth. i look up at the soft
iridescent reflection of the sony's 'eye' and
crunch the ceramic to powder. "eat" and i do
as i'm told, with another loud crack i take my
second bite.

the impact of the baseball bat crumbles my teeth, like sidewalk chalk on 100 degree concrete.
the kind of concrete you can't walk your dog on.
i feel them pulverize and can't help but swallow.
they slide down my throat like a chunky protein shake.
it smiles at me and drops the bat onto the grass.
"tastes good right?", it lowers its chin and raises its eyes to me as it says this.
"right?", it reiterates.
"yeth", i say through bleeding gums.
globs of gore dribbling from my chin.
i am fertilizer.
my iron enriching the soil.
"that's what i thought", it says as it disappears as quickly as it arrived.
i stand alone;
toothless and grinning into thin air as blood gushes from me down to the earth.

untitled

"i've ruined your table, i am so sorry",
i say to the spotlight trained on me.
my blood spilling over the white lip
of the cb2 coffee table.
now pooling in the arc of light on the floor.
"that'll never come out"
i know it won't, i know it.
in the way a baby knows how to be held
i know a stain when i see one.
i've bled on black vinyl, glass, and marble.
or was it wood, stainless steel, and quartz?
that white...
oh man that white, covered in my red,
that's there forever.
still, though, the spotlight remains unmoved.
no nod, no 'hmm', nothing.
i watch a speck of dust
twirl and dance through the air to land in the rivers
now running off the stage. right...on a stage!
i'd forgotten. how? how could i have forgotten?
"wait, no. stop. let me get that! i can clean it up."
a rag appears in my hand? no...
i picked it up... when did i pick that up?
the heat of the spotlight
beads sweat on my brow as i smear the rag
back and forth on the table.
blood pushed and pulled by a sopping cloth.
my fingernails curled under my knuckles,
towel balled in their embrace.
"shit, i'm making it worse"
still, though, the spotlight remains unmoved.
no nod, no 'hmm', nothing.

and from the darkness behind the light,
"CUT!"

emily

god, emily dickinson,
what a fucking sap.

sad, sad, sad.
where is the anger,
where is the rage?

when the world rapes me,
i want to tear it apart.

were you too
panting and sighing
on the floor in Amherst?

can you hear these words now,
through the void of time?

can you hear me
wrapped around the leg
of this bed heaving up blood?